The Dorwinion Wine Debacle
by nicevenn
Summary: Thranduil has only two questions for Galion: How did the prisoners escape, and why is the wine gone?
1. Because the Wine is Gone

"Tell me, Galion, how did the prisoners manage to escape?"

King Thranduil poses the question calmly from the throne, as if we were discussing the fair weather or his latest pair of boots. I've been anticipating this moment for hours, eager to get it over with, but now that it is here I find myself wishing he had not summoned me quite so soon—or at all.

"My lord, it seems there was also a hobbit amongst the—"

"I am aware that the dwarves had the aid of a hobbit. What I wish to know is how he managed to get them out of their cells, into the barrels, and past the Gate."

"Well, the captain and I, we—" He knows all of this, I am sure. He was told the short version of the story as soon as the alarm was raised. Given my history, he has no doubt already filled in the details for himself. "I invited him to drink with me and we fell into a rather deep slumber, thus giving the hobbit the opportunity to—"

"How much did you drink? It is unheard of for a mere goblet of wine to put an elf into a 'rather deep slumber.'"

I see there will be no glossing over anything this time. "We got a bit carried away—a flagon each—and it was an unusually heady wine."

"From the gardens of Dorwinion, perhaps?"

"… Aye."

He leans back with a thoughtful expression. "I could benefit from that right now. Bring me a flagon."

My stomach plummets. And here I thought things could not get any worse. "Actually, my lord—that particular wine is gone."

"_Gone_? The two of you could not possibly have drained an entire cask in one sitting. Did you drop it into the river along with the dwarves?"

"I-I may have sampled it previously, my lord. On several occasions."

I expect an outburst of rage. Instead, he observes me for a long while, thinking Eru knows what behind those bright blue eyes, and then declares, "I ought to drag you down to one of the cells and console myself by pretending I have at least one prisoner left."

Something stirs low in my belly at his words, and I feel my face go red. Only I would have the nerve to think about being ravished by the king at a time like this. But the intensity of his gaze makes me wonder if maybe I interpreted the statement correctly, after all.

"If it would please you, my lord…"

"No, it would not. What would please me is to have thirteen dwarf prisoners and a goblet of my finest wine—and a butler who is not a drunkard, a liar, and a thief!"

_Drunkard. Liar. Thief_. Each word cuts deeper than the last. I want to assure him of the fact that I've never lied to _him_, but it would seem trivial now in light of everything else, so I hold my tongue.

"I will place an order for more of that particular Dorwinion vintage right away, my lord." I swallow hard, realizing that now would be an opportune moment for him to inform me that I'm being relieved of my duties. "In the meantime, there are other, quite exquisite wines in the cellars. I can—"

"Do you enjoy partaking of that which is mine, Galion?"

"My lord, I am truly—"

"I am not asking for an apology," he says impatiently. "You have gone above and beyond your duty of familiarizing yourself with the wines meant to be served at my table. Is there anything else you would like to try?"

The way he lowers his voice and uncrosses his legs whilst repeating the question sends a shiver up my spine, but surely I am letting my imagination run wild again.

"I am afraid I do not know what you mean, my lord."

"My cock, perhaps?"

There's a sudden rush of blood in my ears; I cannot have heard what I think I did. (Although I've wondered about the curious lack of guards in the hall upon my arrival.)

"Y-your—?"

"My cock, Galion. Do you want to taste it?"

I'm not sure what the correct answer to the question is, or if there even is a correct answer. My sudden elation is mixed with dread, for I doubt this is going to go the way it is playing out in my mind.

"It is an honor to serve you in whatever way I can, my lord. If you wish for me to—"

"I am asking if _you_ wish it."

"… I do."

He tilts his head, considering me for a moment. "Ask me."

My pulse races as the command echoes in my head. I can't believe this is really happening. We stare at each other for a moment as I try to find my voice. When I do it comes out raspy and weak. "May I taste it, my lord?"

"Am I holding a sword to your throat, Galion? Ask me in a way that shows me how much you want it."

Metaphorically, he is holding a sword to my throat. I have desired him from the moment I first saw him, when I began working for his father. We were young then, and he was a different elf. His eyes always twinkled with mischief, and I was the perpetual victim of his pranks. Later I drowned my sorrows in wine when he married, and again when I could do naught to ease the pain of his loss. And now he wants me to show him how much I want it, when I know he is more likely to send me out of his sight forever than he is to give me what I desire. It is indeed a blade cutting into my neck, cold and sharp…and exciting nonetheless.

"Please, my lord, use my mouth for your pleasure. Let me—let me taste your release." My words make me cringe, but there is a reason I am a butler and not a bard.

His lips quirk ever so slightly. "'My lord?' Is that what you called my father when he took you against my most beloved oak?"

I nearly choke on my own spit.

No, that isn't what I called his father then. And I didn't call him 'Oropher,' either. King Oropher had been surprisingly perceptive and offered to help me live out my fantasies, as long as I kept my feelings buried deep the remainder of the time.

My face begins to burn again. He knows. He has known all along.

Somehow this is even worse than being called a drunkard, a liar, and a thief. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

"And I do not recall you using such horridly proper and poetic language," he adds. "Try again."

I take in a shaky breath.

"Let me suck your cock, _Thranduil_." To my credit I manage to hold his gaze as I speak. "I want to feel your hands tighten in my hair as you fuck my mouth… I want to know what you sound like when you come. I want…"

I trail off, overcome by his beauty as his eyes flutter closed. Sweet Eru, I am hard.

A slight smile forms on his lips. "A servant with such a fine appreciation for the pleasures of all the senses—a rare thing, indeed." He spreads his legs a little more and opens his eyes just in time to catch me glancing at the slight bulge this change in position has revealed. "Would you rather I came in your mouth, flooding it with my seed in hot spurts—or down your throat, holding your head hard against me, so you would not miss a single drop?"

The king's words come alive in my mind's eye—his dick pulsing in my mouth as I swallow his come, salty and warm…his hand on the back of my head, holding me in place even as I choke on his length… my arm curled around his leg, fingers digging into the back of his thigh because I'm so aroused—My cock twitches, straining against my breeches, and that alone is almost enough to send me over the edge, untouched, right in front of him.

"Both ways sound equally appealing, my lord."

He smirks. "Are you saying you would have me come twice?"

I feel my blush deepen. I'm reminded of a morning a few years ago, when Lord Elrond's sons had recently arrived from Imladris. I entered the king's bedchamber in the morning to help him get ready for the day ahead, and came to a halt. The air was thick with the smell of sex. He was alone by then, but the sheets were rumpled and stained to the point of suggesting that everyone had had at least two turns. Seeing this, I could not speak without stammering, and my eyes were repeatedly drawn to the bed. He gave me the rest of the day off to clear my head. There was an inexplicable shortage of wine in the cellars within a fortnight.

"How many times _can_ you come, Thranduil?"

Ah, but I am enjoying this too much. The king is merely toying with me, perhaps engaging in one last bit of mischief, for old time's sake, before he delivers the final blow. Nevertheless, even if this exchange is ultimately meant to embarrass and humiliate me, it is the most euphoric experience I have ever had. I might as well make the most of it.

"It is rather unfortunate that you have such a love of drink, Galion, for there are other ways I could enjoy you as well," he says in a voice clear as water and smooth as silk; it caresses me from the inside out.

"What ways?"

"I might decide to take you down to the dungeons and have you play prisoner, after all. Or I could fuck you right here—after I have bent you over my lap and spanked you with my bare hand until your skin turned bright red." I bite down on my lip and clench my hands at my sides in an attempt to suppress the tremors running through me. "Would you ride me, right here on the throne? I might be forced to shove my fingers in your mouth to keep you silent, but—"

I manage to keep my climax down to a quiet whimper, but he notices anyway and sits, grinning, watching as I struggle to remain standing. To think that of all the things he just said, it would be the mention of his fingers in my mouth that would undo me… Well, I shouldn't be surprised. The sight of his hands has always thrilled me.

My apprehension returns when he rises from his seat and descends the steps. I brace myself for whatever is coming, keenly aware of the warm, wet mess in my trousers.

"Your secret trysts with my father were interesting to spy upon," he says, "but I am yet a more generous and inventive lover than his interpretation may have led you to imagine." He stops in front of me. I swallow hard and hold my breath as he lifts the hem of my tunic and dips a hand beneath the waistband of my breeches. It comes out covered in glistening streaks of smeared come, and he licks the tip of his middle finger, pink tongue darting out from in between his lips to taste my seed. Then he turns and walks away.

"As you might learn if you reconsider your values and begin applying yourself to your duties with renewed dedication!"


	2. The Trial in the Cellars

Not an entire day has passed since the king's return from Erebor when he appears in the cellars with a simple command: "Leave."

His presence in these parts of the halls is most unusual; the order to leave is perplexing, to say the least. There are only a few others here helping me prepare the wines to be served at the feast, and they scurry away with bowed heads. I was not told to stay, so I too begin to follow them out, but he blocks my path.

"Not you, Galion."

I attempt to remain calm, but inside my chest my heart is leaping—mostly out of excitement, but partially out of apprehension. I've tried to be good while he was away—for I have not forgotten his suggestion that I might find myself rewarded for excellent service—but that doesn't mean he has not found some reason to be angry with me.

"What is it, my lord?"

There is something odd about the way he is looking at me. When he arrived at the Gate yesterday, I could see even from afar that his face was drawn with grief and the pain of loss. Now there is a spark of joy and mischief.

"I thought I would come here and make sure you were behaving yourself," he says, looking me up and down. "It would not do if the wrong wines were served at the feast because my drunken butler is running amok in the cellars."

I cannot help but laugh. "No, it would not. But I haven't had anything to drink yet." At his raised brow, I add, "And I will not until my work is finished. Even then it will only be the wine that is intended for servants."

He takes a few steps closer, until I can feel his bodyheat through his robes. "How can I be sure?" He's looking at me with genuine curiosity, as if he expects me to offer an easy solution. "How might I know for certain you did not have a goblet of my finest shortly before I came down here?"

It's hard to think with his face so close to mine. "I do not know..."

"No?" He smirks, and I manage only to stare at his mouth as he closes the distance between us.

His lips feel silky soft as they brush mine; it is all I can do not to moan as he prods my mouth open (and the only reason any prodding is required is because I want the moment to last longer so that I can burn it into my memory). He cradles the back of my head as his tongue delves into my mouth. This time I do make some sort of embarrassing sound, but it cannot be helped.

I wrap my arms around him and dig my fingers into his shoulders as his tongue slides against mine, slow yet demanding. My senses are overwhelmed. He tastes of honey and smells subtly of the forest he holds so dear. His body is hard as iron, yet soft as silk. I cannot get enough, and no sooner do I think this than he starts to pull away.

"It would appear you were telling the truth." He grins widely. "But I would like to investigate further, just to be sure."

Before I realize what's happening he pins me up against the wall, one leg hooked around his hip. He moves the collar of my tunic out of the way and dips in to kiss and nip at my collarbone. I let my head fall back as his hot mouth moves slowly up my neck, leaving behind a wet trail that makes me shiver when the cool air touches my skin. The fluttering and twisting in my belly is almost unbearable, and it only gets worse when I glance down to make sure that this is real, that it is indeed his blond head against my throat. I bury a hand in his hair, wanting to press him closer even though he is as close as he can be. Fuck, even his cock is digging into my hip through our clothes.

"Thranduil…"

He starts kissing along my jawline, and I drop my head back down to kiss him again. His lips part at first, but then he hesitates. I wait for a moment and lean in. He pulls back.

He swallows and shakes his head ever-so-slightly, all former traces of gladness gone. "I cannot do this."

"Why?" Trying to ignore the sudden weight in my stomach, I drag my fingertips along the length of his arousal. I cannot count the number of time I touched his father like this, pretending it was him, but now I am dizzy with the realization that this is the real thing. His mouth drops open again as I stroke him through his breeches, and his warm breath tickles my face. "Everything seems to be in working order."

I hope the teasing will help evaporate whatever dark mood has suddenly fallen over him. But he covers my hand with his own in a firm grip and, with his lips pressed into a thin line, moves it away. "I can't."

I grit my teeth. _Why not_? I want to ask again, but that would be overstepping my boundaries— and besides, I am sure I already know. It's not entirely unheard of for an elf lord to take a commoner as a lover, but as far as I'm aware the king has never done so. He must find the idea too repulsive to move past.

"It is not what you think," he says in a voice barely above whisper. But amongst the myriad emotions in his eyes I see a hint of something akin to contempt, and it does nothing to reassure me. He releases my leg and steps away, then waves a hand in the vague direction of some wine racks. "You may have whatever wine you like tonight, after you are done here."

He gives me one last conflicted glance before turning on his heel and storming off.

As I watch his retreating back, I can honestly say I couldn't care less what kind of wine I am going to drink tonight.


	3. A Visit to the Dungeons

The haze slowly begins to lift. I realize that I am sitting on the ground, slumped against a wall. There is also a taste of bitter herbs in my mouth. Strange.

I try to raise a hand to rub my eyes, but find that I am bound, my wrists tied behind my back. This jolts me fully awake, and the first thing I see is a pair of suede boots and shimmery robes that just barely sweep the ground; I recognize both and scramble to my feet.

"Your majesty!"

One look at the king's face confirms my fear: He is furious.

"You certainly are a more attractive prisoner than the last," he says dryly. He tosses aside something he's been holding—an empty potion bottle—and it rolls noisily across the stone floor.

It appears we are in a prison cell. I have a vague memory of being lead by a couple of guards, but I must have only been half-conscious and then passed out again upon arrival.

Finally, the meaning of his words sinks in. "What do you mean 'the last'? Where's—"

"Sméagol has escaped. I was told his guards became distracted while letting him play in the trees." He gives me an accusatory glare.

"That is unfortunate." I am not sure what else to say. If I was asleep under a table, I could not have been responsible for any such distraction.

"Do you know why the guards forgot to keep an eye on the prisoner?" he presses on.

"No, my lord."

He closes in on me until our faces are mere inches apart. "They were singing an ode to your mouth."

_Fuck._

That was not the answer I was expecting, but regrettably it does make sense. How he managed to extract the truth about the distraction from the guards, however, I do not know. Clearly I'm not the only one who is unable to lie to him.

"Would you like to hear the lyrics?" he asks, stepping back.

_Oh Valar, he knows the lyrics_! I shudder to think what they might be. And the thought that he knows them is mortifying. When I initiated the events of the other night, I had a feeling my actions might lead to no good—but we were running very low on Dorwinion wine, so I had to devise some other escape from my misery.

"Preferably not."

"Pity—they are truly quite clever. I am in awe of the creativity of my people," he says, but his expression is one of disappointment and disgust.

The next question catches me completely off guard, though I should have known it was coming.

"Do you suck off any ellon who opens his breeches, or do you only make the rounds with the guards?"

"Neither. It was just one time, and there were only three of them." That last bit makes me cringe.

He grabs me by the front of the tunic and gives me a good shake. "_Only_ three?"

He looks livid. A wave of fear rushes through me, but it is quickly tempered by the realization that he is jealous. I don't understand why—he made it clear years ago that he didn't want me—but I can think of no other reason for his overreaction.

"Splendid," he says. "You whored yourself with _only_ three of my men at once. Should we ever go to war again, I'll bring you along so you can provide entertainment for all!"

I know he would never do such a thing, but to hear him say it brings a sting to my eyes. I have to turn away. "You don't mean that."

He loosens his grip on my tunic but continues to rub the coarse fabric thoughtfully between his fingers. "No, I do not, but—_why_, Galion? I do not expect you do be celibate, but _that_… You deserve a loving relationship."

When I'm sure I will not shed tears, I find his eyes again. "I cannot love another as long as my heart belongs to you."

"Does it still? Even after I led you on and then abandoned you?"

"Always."

He leans in slowly and presses his mouth against mine. The kiss is chaste and hesitant…almost mournful. Then he pulls back.

"My father loved you, Galion. But you were too desperate too see me in him to notice the way he looked at you, the way his face fell whenever you called him by my name."

Reading the confusion on my face, he adds, "It is true. You believe it was all a scheme to keep you away from me—and in the beginning it most likely was—but he came to care for you. I am sure of it."

"My lord, why are you telling me this?"

I was, perhaps, not as oblivious to Oropher's feelings as Thranduil thinks—though at the time I remained in denial. It was the only way I could carry on with him the way we did.

"I have taken everything that was once his," he says softly, "although I have earned none of it."

I know not to argue now; moments such as these, when he reveals to me his deepest insecurities, are exceptionally rare. And any attempt to change his perspective will cause him to shut me out and guard his feelings even more carefully in the future.

He brushes my lips with the backs of his fingers. "Almost everything," he adds in a whisper. Then he drops his hand and takes a few steps back, drawing himself up to full height once more.

I want to scream in frustration, because for a moment it seems like he's going to leave me again.

But he doesn't.

"I require a demonstration," he says. His eyes pose a challenge, but there is also a trace of vulnerability there, something only those closest to him would recognize.

My mouth goes dry as he starts unlacing his breeches. "I want to understand why I have lost another prisoner."

"I was not bound when I..." I point out. I would feel more confident if I had use of my hands.

"Ah, but there is only one of me, so it turns out fair, wouldn't you say? Get on your knees."

So I get on my knees, still unable to believe this is really happening. I watch, utterly dumbstruck, as he strokes himself to full hardness in front of my face, just out of reach. His cock is long and pale with a dark pink head and a delicate arch.

I lick my lips.

He takes a step closer, and I flick the very tip of the head and then swirl my tongue around it. His breath hitches. His cock bobs in the space between us as I continue to tease him like this. He hisses every now and again, but he keeps his hips still and makes no attempt to direct me. I suspect he wants to put my skills to the test by giving me full control from beginning to end. But I intend to make him lose his self-restraint; before it's over he's going to be grabbing fistfuls of my hair, thrusting fast and deep while I gag and splutter around his length.

I inhale his musky scent as I place soft kisses all along his shaft and dip my tongue into the oozing slit. Only when his breathing grows labored do I finally suck his dick into mouth. He gives a contented sigh and reaches out to brush the hair out of my face as I establish a rhythm of taking him deeper and pulling back. Before long, his fingers start to tighten in my hair. I can sense how hard he is trying not to guide me, so I moan around his length. His entire body tenses. I do it again, and he exhales a shaky, pent-up breath.

At one point I begin to wonder who is going to break first. I am so hard, and the sounds he's making are divine. I'd rather let him win this game than embarrass myself by coming untouched again.

"Galion, please…"

I release him with a smirk tugging on the corners of my lips at this first hint of my imminent victory. "I am only following your command. You asked for a demonstration, and I'm giving you one."

This time, when I take him in my mouth again, he automatically thrusts forward—but then he remembers to restrain himself. Undeterred, I swallow his entire length. He moans as his cock hits the back of my throat. I stop to lap at the tip, and then I do it again and again until, with a frustrated groan, he grabs my head in both hands and starts pumping his hips.

Before long there's drool sliding down my chin, and my cock feels like it's going to burst through my trousers. Eru, how I wish he'd fuck me. But I can't ask for it because my mouth is full and my head held firmly in place.

His voice is breathy and hoarse when he speaks. "Did you like it when they came all over your face?"

I make a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat. I did like it, but only because I imagined it was him.

"Do you want me to?"

This time I moan enthusiastically, and the vibrations make him quiver. He pulls out and keeps my head tilted back with one hand while stroking himself with the other. His breath hitches. I open my mouth.

The first shot feels hot as it splashes onto my chin and lips. Some of it goes into my mouth and slides down the back of my tongue while I keep open for another, and yet another. His dick is still pulsing when he uses it to smear his seed over my skin.

"Come here," he says, pulling me up.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, tasting himself on me, while his fingers begin working on the laces of my breeches. When he pulls back I rub my face into my shoulder to get some of the sticky mess off.

He wraps his long fingers around my cock, and we kiss again while he strokes me for a while.

"I do not have much experience on this end of things," he says then, pressing his forehead to mine. "But I hope I am able please you." Before I can decipher the meaning of his words, he's dropped to his knees, and I cry out at the sensation of heat and wetness as he wraps his mouth around my cock.

My initial instinct is to try and pull him back up—but my hands are still bound. "M-my lord, what if one of the guards passes by?" _And sees the king, on his knees in a prison cell, blowing a common tosspot_.

He doesn't reply, only sucks harder while gently rolling my balls in his hand. I assume he has ensured our privacy. Still, the thrill of being pleasured by the king in a somewhat public space—of being pleasured by him at all—is enough to send me over the edge within minutes.

It's torture not to be able to hold him while he swallows my come with a quiet, appreciative moan, looking up at me for a moment with glazed blue eyes before his lids flutter closed and the long, dark lashes brush his cheeks. I want to tell him he's beautiful, but all I can manage is a strained whisper of his name.

He pulls back and wipes his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. My heart flutters madly and I'm not even sure why. Then it hits me. His father would have used my tunic instead—if he had ever sucked me off at all—and I would have called him 'Thranduil' and thought that was as good as it could get. But this is the real Thranduil, in the flesh, looking up at me with a bright twinkle in his eyes. It is better than anything I ever imagined.

He stands and tucks me back into my breeches. "You are mine now," he says, tugging roughly on the laces. "And that means you will not let anyone else touch you. Do you understand?"

He reaches behind me to untie the rope around my wrists, pressing himself against me harder than necessary. I swear I must be glowing—my cheeks actually hurt.

"Yes, my lord."

"Thranduil," he says, and my heart makes another leap. "But to be certain you do not stray, I am going to keep you locked up in my chambers for a fortnight. That ought to send the message to anyone who might be tempted by your charms."

"How will I get my work done?"

"On your back…on all fours…in the bath…" He steps away, grinning, and opens the cell door. "I can think of any number of possibilities."

Something tells me it's going to be an interesting couple of weeks.

Elvish terms:

ellon: male elf


End file.
